Hush, Elizabeth.

You've been in my dreams again, you know.
It doesn't bother me to have you there. You have every right to be there, just like Ari and Joe and Milla and Tiffa and Israel. Some part of me must have invited you in. Invited you to be my Watcher or my audience member, my bodyguard or my translator or my Whitelighter. (Note to self: Stop watching WB before bed.) To drive my car, to pass me as if I am an utter stranger, to simply deliver packages to my door.
To scare me to death last night, kissing me beneath my blindfold and putting a hand to my mouth, insistent that I keep quiet, repeating over and over again:
"Hush, Elizabeth."
before you kicked the stool out from beneath my feet and hung me for witchcraft.
Ari stood by and cried.